Lost Love
by BritishTraveller
Summary: 'Alfred F. Jones and Arthur Kirkland had been dating for a while now. He couldn't remember how long it'd been, it felt like forever. All he knew was that it'd been around twelve months. Twelve months of perfection.' USUK. Hinted FrUk and AmeRus. Title change - again!
1. Chapter 1

** Hey, I hope you like this. I might get started on the next chapter soon if you guys like it...**

**(Alfred F. Jones - America**  
**Arthur Kirkland - England**  
**Conor Kirkland - N. Ireland**  
**Allistor Kirkland - Scotland**  
**Dylan Kirkland - Wales  
Peter Kirkland - Sealand****)**

* * *

Alfred F. Jones and Arthur Kirkland had been dating for a while now. He couldn't remember how long it'd been, it felt like forever. All he knew was that it'd been around twelve months. Twelve months of perfection. Arthur'd come across as gobby and arrogant the first time Alfred had met him, and Arthur had thought the same about the American.

Both boys had known each other since they were ten years old, when Arthur and his brothers would rent and stay in Alfred and his parents' extra beach house in Miami, Florida. It was right next to the one Alfred stayed in, so he had a perfect view of the Brit from his room.

Arthur was always the quiet one, Alfred noted. He would silently sit on the private part of beach, his head down in a Sherlock Holmes or Harry Potter book; sometimes he'd even go the extra mile and read a bit of Shakespeare. He never once stirred or made a sound. Every once in a while, he would raise his head; having a quick gaze up at the beautiful scenery before dropping his head back down and getting lost in the fictional world.

He didn't even yell at his three elder brothers when they'd beat him up or shout nasty things or throw stones at him. The only person he seemed close to was his younger brother, Peter; and even he called his older brother a jerk most of the time. Alfred felt rather sorry for the young British boy, until one day when they were both fifteen, the messy haired blonde snapped...

Ermagerd. Flashback.

Alfred glanced out of his bedroom window. He had been lying on his bed, feet dangling over the edge with his arms behind his head, nodding it to the beat of the new Muse album, when he heard the sound of a rather heavy object meeting the ground. He turned his iPod off quickly, scrambling up and darting to witness another Kirkland family brawl.

"What the bloody hell are you doing?!" yelled a young Brit, rubbing his red, bruised cheek as he glared at his elder red-haired brother.

"Well, Iggy, what does it look like?" replied the boy, who strode over to the younger one, snatching his beloved copy of 'The Sign of Four'.

"Jesus Christ! Just stop it, will you?!" shouted Arthur, trying his best to grab the red and gold book from his brother's hand. That was his favourite book by far. Every time Alfred had looked at the boy, he was reading a Sherlock Holmes novel. This one he was seen regularly with.

The Briton's face turned from one of anger to one of sorrow quickly as he saw his eldest brother open up his prized possession. It was one of Arthur Conan Doyle's first editions from the 1890's. Arthur loved it so; it'd been passed down from his Great-Grandfather. The Kirkland's were known to be very proud people. It was finally given to him on his 13th birthday as he shared Conan Doyle's first name.

Allistor, the Scottish brother, grinned as he ripped out the front pages. The contents page wilted in the slight warm breeze; 'Chapter 9 "A Break in the Chain" Page 88' were the first words Alfred saw as the paper drifted through his open window. He could see the messy haired boy was devastated.

"Stop it!" begged Arthur, tears forming in his emerald-green eyes, "Fucking stop it! You prick!" he cried - his voice breaking.

"What you gon' do 'bout it, eh, Iggy?" asked another brother, who threw down some bulky rocks and stroke over too. He laughed as Allistor threw the old book to him. Alfred saw several tears run down the Brit's face as his Irish brother, Conor, continued to rip chapters out of the 19th century book.

There was now two against one, Arthur's third brother, Dylan, lingering at the back of the beach house, away from the trouble and commotion.

_What a coward! Man, I should go help..._ Alfred thought. He desperately wanted to; he wanted to be the hero, rescue the other boy's beloved book... but his legs wouldn't budge. He had a strange feeling in his gut that was telling him something unexpected was about to happen, and yes; he was sure it wasn't the dodgy burger he'd eaten before.

Arthur stood straight, his green eyes locking onto his brothers. "I'll tell you what I'll bloody do about it!" started the blonde, his green eyes burning with rage.

"Oooh! Little Iggy's got somethin' to say to us! Don' get your eyebrows in a twist, Arthur!" commented the ginger, looking up at the elder red head, laughing.

The two tall lads laughed loudly, much to both the American and Brit's displeasement.

"Shut your damn mouth, wanker!" yelled Arthur, shaking.

Then it all fell silent. The two brothers glared at Arthur, signalling Hell was about to break loose, when all of a sudden the blonde threw a punch, sending his Northern Irish brother flying.

The Scot's eyes followed his brother's journey across the yard, his eyes wide.

"Conor... Are you alright?" asked the unusually quiet Welsh brother, who'd stood back and watched the whole scenario take place. He watched as Allistor darted his eyes back to Arthur. "Allistor, leave him... "

"Ooh! Mam'll 'ave yae for tha'!" the Scot threatened as he grinned at the messy blonde. He couldn't wait to see what he would do.

"I don't give a damn, you stupid twat! Don't ever-" Arthur punched his brother in the stomach unexpectedly, winding him, "ever-" he punched again, making the Scot double over, "_ever_ touch me or my things _again_, you hear?! I'm fucking _sick_ of the bruises! Mum never sees them because I won't let her! You're _all_ dickheads! My God."

The elder teen gasped for air, looking up at his fifteen year old brother and nodded. He was _really _surprised at how strong his younger brother was. Little Iggy, not big enough to fight back had just punched one of his bullies in the face and winded another. "I- I didn't realise..."

"You hurt me! How could you not realise that?" shouted Arthur, getting slightly quieter.

"I-" gasped Allistor, "I'm sorry..."

The third brother, Dylan, stared, a look of awe plastered on his face. "I- Arthur-" started the Welsh boy, looking guilty as Arthur started to walk back into the beach house, the empty book cover and several pages in his hands.

Arthur just sighed. "Leave me alone."

* * *

**Sorry it wasn't very long; I know I was really mean to Arthur but I'll make it up to him!**

**Like I said, I'll try and get started on the next chapter, depending on how this chapter goes. Please, please, please leave reviews! I really appreciate them and I want to know whether to continue this. :)**


	2. Chapter 2

_"As for lovers, well, they'll come and go too. And babe, I hate to say it, most of them - actually pretty much all of them are going to break your heart, but you can't give up because if you give up, you'll never find your soul mate. You'll never find that half who makes you whole and that goes for everything. Just because you fail once, doesn't mean you're gonna fail at everything. Keep trying, hold on, and always, always, always believe in yourself, because if you don't, then who will, sweetie? So keep your head high, keep your chin up, and most importantly, keep smiling, because life's a beautiful thing and there's so much to smile about." _

_- Marilyn Monroe_

Alfred remembered that day clearly. That day, his views on the young Briton had changed. He wasn't weak, gobby or arrogant. No, he was strong. Independent. Quiet. _Alone_. He felt so bad for the slightly shorter boy; why did his brothers pick on him? It wasn't exactly fair. Since that fateful day though, they hadn't hurt Arthur as bad.

When Arthur'd gone back inside, his parents had yelled at him for hurting his brothers. Sure, they'd guessed they were taunting him a little, but there was no way they'd hurt little Arthur. Sweet, innocent, quiet little blonde haired Arthur? Oh, no. He was probably just attention seeking, as usual.

That's what Alfred hated the most. He didn't hate Arthur's family per se, just the way they treated their son. Personally, he found it horrendous. How could anyone be that dismissive? Ignore their own son? Call him the 'black sheep' of the family? Now really, that was just down right _harsh_.

So, that's when Alfred stepped in. Four years ago.

He had gone and strolled up to the door and knocked three times.

_Knock. Knock. Knock._

124.90 seconds later, the door swung open. "And hu' might you be?" asked a Scottish voice, which Alfred remembered belonged to Allistor, the elder of the brothers. He was also the one to rip up Arthur's book.

Alfred looked the boy up and down, noting he wasn't standing up straight. "I'm Alfred. My parents own this house."

"Tha's nice." replied the Scot, closing the door.

He was rather surprised, however, to find that Alfred's size 6 Converse had wedged themselves in the gap between the door and the frame.

"Yae mind movin' ya' foot?"

"I know what you did to Arthur."

Allistor again swung open the door and snarled at the American lad before him. Who was he to judge? _Pfft._ His pathetic little runt of a brother probably told him. He'll get it later.

"And?"

"I just wanted to say how pathetic I think you are."

"Alrigh'. Fancy movin' now?"

"Not really."

Allistor sighed. "The fuck do you want, Yank?"

"Stop giving Arthur shit. He doesn't deserve it. He's done nothing wrong!"

"Ha! He's tha' runt of tha' litter an' always will be. Always pretending to do magic an' shit, he's a wee weirdo!"

The American frowned. "Well he deserves a lot better than you."

"What like? You?"

Alfred shrugged, "Why not?"

At that, the Scottish boy started laughing. "Ah, yae a wee poof! Just like ma' little brother. 'ave him. We don't care."

"I thought you apologised to him?"

"Aye, doesn't mean a meant it, though." Allistor turned and left Alfred at the door, walking into the hallway and shouting, "Arthur! Get here now! Ya' boyfriend's waitin' for yae!"

"Fuck you." muttered Arthur as he came into view, his eyebrows scrunching together at the sight of the sunny blonde boy at the door. "Alfred?"

"Aren't yae gonna say hello?" asked Allistor, smirking.

_'Maybe I should mention we're not together?' _thought Alfred as he smiled at the Brit. "Hey, Artie!"

"Oh. Um, hello, Alfred."

"You comin' out? It's an awesome day to go swimming, if you wanna come?"

"I-"

"Great! Come on then, dude!"

~xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx~

In all honesty, Arthur rather enjoyed Alfred's company. The American was loud, a little obnoxious at times, but overall bloody good company. Alfred was sweet and lovely, and seemed to be the only one who actually genuinely cared for him. When he'd forced the Brit to go swimming with him, he was relatively happy he had, for he wouldn't have had such a splendid day otherwise.

They'd spent the whole day just playing, swimming, splashing each other, just plain having fun. His mother hadn't even called him in for dinner, which Arthur was dreading, which meant that he could spend more time with his best friend.

His only friend.

When he thought about it, he rather loved it in the United states of America. Of course, it was nothing on his home country of the United Kingdom, but it was fantastic. It was different. Plus, Alfred lived there.

He would spend endless days talking to him over the phone, through e-mail and through texts. About trivial things, like what they were doing at school, if they had anybody they liked. Sometimes, and only sometimes, Arthur'd even venture onto the old second hand X-Box Alfred'd given him one year for his birthday and play COD - which Alfred had taught him - with the aforementioned American. Now, Arthur was usually a bit more wary around people, but when around the carefree American, he couldn't care less; although letting his guard down wasn't easy, he quickly found his place and eagerly awaited the family holidays to his second home across the Atlantic.

But after about three years, both the boys had realised that they didn't really find themselves attracted to girls. They just found them boring. Meaningless.

Sure, Arthur's brothers had called him homophobic names like 'poof' or 'faggot', and they genuinely thought he was gay since birth, but he didn't. He hadn't the foggiest.

Actually, Arthur hadn't really thought about his sexual orientation. He didn't particularly go out of his way to ogle girls _or_ boys. He was quite content keeping himself to himself. Within a year of knowing Alfred, Arthur's confidence had been boosted by 99%. The Brit replied when people spoke to him without fear of being hurt, and sometimes even found himself enjoying the conversations he got himself into. The ones he had with Kiku Honda, the Japanese exchange student and Antonio Carriedo, a Spaniard, were okay. He did like talking to them at college, but there were some people he could do without having the misfortune to talk to.

One example of this would be:

_Bingo!_

Francis Bonnefoy.

Yup. As you can guess, he was . . . French. And if there was one thing Arthur disliked more than burnt scones and his siblings; it was bloody French men.

The freaking frog would always find a way to snake his arms around the Brit, calling him irritating names like '_mon amour_' and '_mon petit lapin_' and eventually try and kiss him. Let's be serious now; _Francis..._kissing _him_? Pfft. Plus, 'my love' and 'my little rabbit' were certainly _not_ names Arthur wanted to be called. His French was surprisingly good, but him being the proud Brit that he is, refused to talk it in public. He got an _A _in his French GCSE, but that didn't mean he was going to flaunt it about like he was some bloody Frenchman himself.

He would forever be trying to avoid the Parisian. From ducking his head down whenever he passed to scurrying out of the class first, he always made sure Francis couldn't see him. He would, however, always see the slightly shorter boy. It hurt him a little bit to see the Brit act that way, but hey, he supposed he _did_ have a bad reputation. _Everybody_ at high school and college knew of Francis Bonnefoy. The third and most flirtatious member of the 'Bad Touch Trio' (or 'BTT' as they liked to call themselves.) Mr Bonnefoy was the prime example of a man-whore. Well, figuratively speaking. He wasn't actually a prostitute and didn't fuck _everything_ that walked, but he did try too on many an occasion. Arthur, however, was the only person Francis actually fell in love with. He did try to tell him, but the boy wouldn't listen.

Francis didn't blame him though. He probably thought he was joking. He called lots of people 'lapin' and 'cher', but he only ever meant it when he called Arthur it.

So, when Francis made a move on the Brit one day and asked him to be his, and the boy didn't even react, he was pleasantly surprised. He'd expected a kick in the balls. A death threat at least. But nope. He did, however, receive a smile and a 'oui'.

The truth was, every time they shared a little bicker or moment, both Arthur and Francis found themselves falling for one another a little bit more. There was a little bit of Arthur that always doubted their love, but he let it be and carried on with his new French boyfriend.

Out of character, you say? Well come on, give the boy a break. He _is_ a horny teen in the presence of a sexy Frenchman.

But anyway, back to Alfred.

At the same time Arthur was experimenting with Francis at their expensive college in London, Alfred was experimenting with someone himself.

A big, tall Russian lad named Ivan Braginski.

Three years later, when both of their relationships had gone haywire, Arthur and Alfred quickly turned to each other for advice. Francis had returned to Paris and informed Arthur he wouldn't be coming back, as he had decided he wanted another change. He wanted to move to the US. And he didn't want Arthur coming with him.

That killed Arthur. It really did. So, what did he do? He rang Alfred.

Alfred broke up with Ivan too. After three years with the Russian and his creepy younger sister, he couldn't be bothered any more. Ivan's little sister, Natalya, was spooky as hell. She was forever sneaking up on him and covering his eyes, whispering weird shit into his ear which would make him run off. And really, after three years, Alfred'd had a good run. As soon as he broke the news to the Russian and had run away from the pipe holding boy, he rang Arthur straight away and told him what happened; knowing he would be there to listen to him and greet him with open arms and that he would always be there to do the same.

And that, my friends, is when Arthur and Alfred both realised who their hearts belonged to.

Each other.

_"I wanted a perfect ending. Now I've learned, the hard way, that some poems don't rhyme, and some stories don't have a clear beginning, middle, and end. Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what's going to happen next._  
_Delicious Ambiguity." _  
_― Gilda Radner_


End file.
